


Five Minutes More

by roboticonography



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's first meetings with some of the characters in Agent Carter - and a few other firsts as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve meets Angie, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of related vignettes that I originally posted on Tumblr as promptfic, under the banner of "first time stories." I'm posting them here in chronological order, rather than in the order I wrote them.
> 
> I wrote them at different times, so there are occasionally tense changes between stories. Whoops.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name, which was recorded by Frank Sinatra in 1946:
> 
> _Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more_  
>  Let me stay, let me stay in your arms  
> Here am I, begging for only five minutes more  
> Only five minutes more of your charms 
> 
> _All week long I dreamed about our Saturday date_  
>  Don't you know that Sunday morning you can sleep late?  
> Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more  
> Let me stay, let me stay in your arms 

The guy looks awfully familiar, that’s for sure, but Angie can’t quite put her finger on it right away. She wonders if maybe she’s seen him in a play or a picture - he’s handsome enough - only he doesn’t seem the type, and anyhow, he’s in uniform.

 

"Sorry to bother you," he says - and Angie almost tosses her tray and leaps into his arms, because she can’t remember the last time any customer spoke so nicely to her, let alone a tall drink of water with a heroic jawline and blue, blue eyes - "but do you know if Peggy Carter is here?"

 

Angie tries, and fails, not to be completely crushed under the weight of her own disappointment.

 

"A friend of mine told me she comes here for lunch," he adds. Angie notices for the first time that he’s carrying flowers, and has a hopeful sort of look. She wonders whether he knows about Mr. Fancy.

 

"She usually comes in around one." She steers Officer Dreamboat to Peggy’s usual booth. "Can I get you anything?"

 

"Cup of coffee, please. Black."

 

Angie actually giggles - God - and says, “Plenty sweet all on your own?”

 

Tall Drink of Handsome smiles (Angie can feel herself getting weak in the knees) and says, “That’s what my ma used to tell me.”

 

It’s then that Angie realizes where she’s seen him before: Passaic.

 

She really does drop her tray this time, a stack of dirty plates crashing to the tile floor. A couple of assholes in the corner give her a standing ovation, wolf-whistles and all. Her boss starts railing about how it’s coming out of her paycheck.

 

Meanwhile, Cap - it _is_ him, she’d swear to it now, impossible as it seems - helps her clear up the mess.

 

Peggy always did hate the Captain America Adventure Program. And she’d get a little melancholy now and then about pictures of Cap in the paper (Angie loves that word, _melancholy_ , so much classier than just plain old sad or mopey) but Angie always put it down to a sort of general sadness about the whole situation: he was young, he was cute, he was a hero, and he died.

 

Angie goes to get him his coffee, and then she starts counting the minutes until one o’clock.

 

Because whatever’s about to happen when Peggy walks in is gonna be better than a whole afternoon at the picture show.


	2. Steve Meets Angie, part 2

"You’re gonna scrub a hole in that counter," says Carla, the other waitress on Angie’s shift, as she swoops by with a full tray. And it’s true, the counter probably doesn’t need any more wiping, since Angie’s been at it for going on twenty minutes.

 

Angie is determined not to miss Peggy’s reaction when she comes in and sees Cap sitting in her regular booth. The counter is the best vantage point to watch the room, and if she needs to, she can grab the coffee pot and run around with refills, so she looks busy without having to do anything that would take her out of view.

 

Carla gives Angie a bitchy look, which Angie gives right back, because okay, maybe she isn’t the best waitress in the whole world, especially today because she’s distracted, but at least _she_ doesn’t put her sticky fingers in the tip jar every time she passes it. So Carla can sit and spin for all she cares.

 

Angie can’t believe that no one else has noticed that _Captain Friggin’ America_ is sitting right there, plain as day and twice as dreamy as any of his photos. It just goes to show that New Yorkers don’t pay attention to each other.

 

Funny enough, it was his voice Angie had recognized first - the same voice that had persuaded Angie to spend her hard-earned tip money on Minuteman stamps every week, even though it meant cutting back on going to the pictures. Once she cottoned on, though, it was impossible _not_ to see him.

 

Every so often, she runs over and refills his coffee, and he thanks her like the big sweetheart he is, but his eyes are glued to the door the whole time.

 

When Peggy finally, _finally_ walks into the automat at a quarter after one, Angie can tell immediately that something is up.

 

She’s late, for one; Peggy is kind of a stickler for punctuality.

 

And then there’s her clothes: one corner of the collar of her blouse is bent, and the bottom button of her blazer is undone. Not a big deal to most people, but to Peggy, it’s the equivalent of walking around with your barn door open or your skirt on backwards.

 

Her hair, too, is all over the place - curls starting to break loose, one gone completely awry and falling over her face. It’s a regular hot mess.

 

Peggy marches into the automat the way Angie imagines she might walk into battle. Because Angie _knows_ she had to have served. Underneath the veneer of refinement ( _veneer_ is another classy word Angie likes) it’s written all over her: the way she talks, sits, eats, carries herself.

 

Angie knows, too, that plenty of girls did the kind of work during the war that they aren’t allowed to talk about now. It’s the way of things in this life: women do all the work, and men take all the credit. (Angie nods in profound agreement with herself at this thought.)

 

So Peggy storms through the door and looks around the room, until she lands on what she’s obviously there to find. The two of them spot each other at the same moment, just like in a play.

 

Cap stands up - forgetting completely about the flowers he brought, which are sitting on the table beside his half-full coffee cup.

 

Peggy walks over to him - slower now, like she might be in a dream.

 

And then… well, it’s not exactly the emotional reunion Angie was hoping for.

 

"Hi," says Cap, a little awkward.

 

Peggy goes all stiff and stiff-upper-lip, like she does sometimes, and says, ”You’re late.”

_Not very romantic, English._ Angie shakes her head despairingly.

 

Cap kind of shrugs, and fiddles with his fingers, and says, “My ride broke down.”

 

Angie wants to scream _Just kiss her already!_ but manages to restrain herself.

 

"Hm." Peggy’s voice is hoarse, like she’s been crying. Or shouting. Her face makes it seem like it could go either way.

 

Then they just stand there _looking_ at each other.

 

And that’s something, at least. (Boy, is it ever. Angie would honestly _die_ if someone looked at her like that.)

 

“Steve, you bloody idiot.” And that’s not too romantic, either.

 

But Angie is starting to wonder if maybe this is just how they do it over in England, because then she hugs him, and he leans down and wraps his big arms around her until he’s lifting her right up off the floor.

 

Angie, who can’t take it anymore, bursts into spontaneous applause.

 

They don’t notice.


	3. Steve Learns About the Captain America Adventure Program

“ _And now it’s time for…_ ”

 

Steve props himself up on his elbows on the bed, and glances over at the radio. He hadn’t noticed it was still on until a moment ago - his mind being on other, more pressing topics.

 

Peggy reaches around him to remove one of her shoes and, with her usual spectacular aim, hurls it across the room at the radio cabinet, silencing voice and music together. She kicks the other shoe off onto the floor, more gently, then curls her legs around his, her heels resting on his calves.

 

"What was that?"

 

"Not important," she tells him, in a husky voice that seems to travel straight down his spine - along with her fingers, which are doing some excellent work in that region at that very moment.

 

"It was the music from the Star Spangled Show." He feels a bit sheepish, because it makes it sound like he wasn’t giving his full attention to the proceedings. "I couldn’t help noticing," he adds. "I’d recognize it in my sleep."

 

"You don’t think a woman ought to hear your signature fanfare when she kisses you?" she asks, grinning up at him devilishly. She looks pleasantly unravelled: skin flushed and glowing, lipstick smudged from his kisses, hair a mess of tangled waves where he’s been running his fingers through it.

 

"I’d rather not feel like I’m performing in front of a crowd right now, if that’s okay by you," he retorts. "But what _was_ that?”

 

"If you must know, it’s a radio play. The _Captain America Adventure Program_. Though I must say that any resemblance is purely coincidental.” Steve’s curiosity must show on his face, because Peggy gives a long-suffering sigh and asks, “Would you like to listen to it?”

 

"Not if you don’t like it."

 

"It’s a bit hard to swallow, after the real thing."

 

The remark is made in perfect innocence - but a moment later, the unintentional double entendre catches up to both of them, and the large, opulent guest room suddenly seems very quiet. And very warm.

 

"Uh," says Steve, eloquently.

 

"Hm," Peggy agrees, her eyes darting between his face and points further south.

 

"I can listen to it another time."

 

"Thank God for that," says Peggy, pulling him back down.


	4. Steve Meets Mr. Jarvis

On his return, Captain Rogers was to be billeted in the guest suite. Mr. Stark had directed he was to have every comfort provided: laundry service, meals, housekeeping. Spare no expense, had been his instructions, and in consequence no expense was spared.

 

Mr. Jarvis had quite looked forward to meeting the legendary Captain Rogers. However, when he finally arrived, it was in the dead of night, long after Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis had retired for the evening.

 

Mr. Stark, who had driven him over personally, gave strict orders that the captain was not to be disturbed - except under the most urgent circumstances - as he was still recovering from his ordeal in the Arctic.

 

Mr. Jarvis, who had spent a perilous few weeks accompanying his previous gentleman on a polar bear hunting expedition in the wilds of northern Canada, was deeply sympathetic.

 

Three times a day, Mr. Jarvis left meals outside the door of the suite, knocking lightly to indicate their presence. He was concerned, at first, to note that the trays were hardly being touched; however, after the first week, the captain’s appetite seemed to improve dramatically, though he remained reclusive.

 

Mr. Jarvis wouldn’t have given it a second thought, if he hadn’t happened to pause outside the door of the suite one morning while collecting the breakfast tray - just long enough to hear the unmistakeable low lilt of a woman’s laugh.

 

Mr. Jarvis, as it happened, had an expansive and carefully curated mental catalogue of female laughter. As a gentleman’s gentleman, it was his job to see to the comforts of his gentleman’s lady friends, and to gauge their moods. He immediately identified this particular specimen as being of a rather intimate, to say nothing of sensuous, variety.

 

Mr. Jarvis was disappointed to note this abuse of Mr. Stark’s hospitality. Mr. Stark had _not_ given his permission to invite guests into the suite - in fact, he had been emphatically clear that all visitors should be cleared by Mr. Jarvis personally.

Further to that, Mr. Jarvis felt very keenly the personal slight to Miss Carter, who had been ever constant to Captain Rogers, even after his apparent death.

Mr. Jarvis screwed his courage to the sticking-place, and rapped on the heavy oak door.

 

From inside the room came another feminine giggle, a distinctly male yelp, and then Captain Rogers called out, “Just a second!”

 

He answered the door in pajama pants and an undershirt, looking rather ruffled and red in the face, which confirmed Mr. Jarvis’s suspicions.

 

The sheer size of the man gave Jarvis momentary pause - what was he to do if the captain refused to evict his lady-friend, other than ask politely a second time?

It didn’t matter. Mr. Stark’s instructions must be carried out, and Miss Carter’s honour defended at all costs.

 

"Captain Rogers, I’m afraid your guest will need to leave."

 

A waft of perfume - Elizabeth Arden, unless Mr. Jarvis was mistaken - followed the captain out into the hall as he moved to pull the door closed behind himself. “Listen, I know I should have cleared it with you, but - “

 

Before the door could shut entirely, Mr. Jarvis inserted himself handily into the gap. “I really - I really must insist,” he said sternly, drawing himself up to his full height and addressing himself to Captain Rogers’ chin. “Mr. Stark’s instructions were specific and absolute.”

 

He slid into the room before Captain Rogers could protest further. "And frankly, sir, if you had even an ounce of consideration for Miss Carter - "

 

Here he stopped short, rooted to the spot in surprise and embarrassment.

 

"Hello, Mr. Jarvis," said the captain’s lady-friend, cordially. She was seated on the bed, legs demurely crossed at the ankle. She looked, all told, rather radiant. One might almost say, triumphant.

 

Mr. Jarvis swallowed loudly, and nodded a return greeting. “Miss Carter.” (They had obviously both made the collective decision to ignore the fact that she was wearing only the other half of Captain Rogers’ pajama set, as plainly evidenced by the presence of items of female clothing scattered about.)

 

"I’m afraid I’m the one who’s taken advantage of your employer’s generosity." She brandished a key ring which held a single master key - the identical twin of the one that Jarvis himself had loaned her when she had occupied the suite. "I made a copy. One never knows when one might find a use for these sorts of things."

 

"Of course."

 

"I’ll apologize to Howard personally."

 

"I think that would be best."

 

"I hope that settles the matter to your satisfaction."

 

"Quite. Will you be staying to lunch?"

 

"Yes, I think so," said Miss Carter, with a look of immense self-satisfaction. "Though I would appreciate your discretion in the matter."

 

"Naturally," agreed Jarvis, already beginning to make his exit.

 

"As much as I appreciate your support, Mr. Jarvis, you needn’t be quite so eager to rush to my defense in future." She wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was a definite note of amusement in her voice.

 

"I’ll bear that in mind." And with that, Jarvis made his escape into the hall, allowing Captain Rogers to close the door in his wake.


	5. Steve Meets Miss Fry

Miriam Fry, that ever-watchful defender of young women’s virtue, had learned through years of experience that nothing was ever as it seemed. No young man, however handsome or polite, was above reproach, and no young woman, however plain, could avoid arousing the baser instincts of men.

 

Margaret Carter was far from plain. She was a pretty and vivacious girl, exactly the sort that had men forever buzzing around her, like wasps around a jam jar. (Miriam’s youngest sister had been the same, and look where _she’d_ ended up: in the _pictures,_ kissing a different man every week!)

 

Miss Carter was also reaching that precarious age where it was time for a girl to stop collecting suitors, and focus instead on choosing a suitable candidate to marry. But despite her statements in her entrance interview, she hadn’t made much progress in this department; in fact, she seemed to leave the Griffith every evening with a different man in tow - and one of them wore a wedding ring, no less!

 

These men never called for her at the desk, never took tea in the main floor sitting room. They waited in their cars for her to come out, and half the time they didn’t even open the passenger door for her. They certainly didn’t strike Miriam as appropriate companions for a respectable, marriage-minded young lady.

 

Miriam had made up her mind to send away the next man who turned up asking for Miss Carter, and to sit her down for a serious conversation about the choices she was making.

 

The next man, quite unexpectedly, turned out to be an earnest young fellow. He called far earlier than the usual hour, while most of the girls were at supper, and was courteous and deferential when he informed her that he was calling for Miss Peggy Carter.

 

He was in uniform. A soldier. The only type of man more feckless than a soldier, in Miriam’s book, was a sailor.

 

He was almost obscenely handsome. Miriam had seen her girls come to blows - actual fisticuffs, under her roof! - over men who looked like that.

 

And, beneath a certain amount of vocal training, Miriam was able to detect just a hint of _a Brooklyn accent_.

 

He was definitely _not_ a suitable man for _any_ woman at the Griffith to know.

 

"I’m afraid Miss Carter is not available this evening."

 

"Are you sure?" asked the young man. "Do you think you could check again?"

 

"I’m very sorry," said Miriam, though she was nothing of the sort.

 

"Would you mind if I waited here? We definitely made a date for tonight. I’d hate for her to think I stood her up."

 

"You may wait outside for fifteen minutes. No more. If I see you continuing to loiter after the top of the hour, I will call the police."

 

Unruffled, he replied, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Just then, the irrepressible Miss Martinelli exited the dining hall and burst onto the scene (Miriam noted that her pocketbook appeared to have an irregular shape, as though it held a large quantity of dinner rolls, or perhaps a small pot roast).

 

"Hiya, Steve!" she chirped. "You’re early. You gotta give a girl more time."

 

"Yeah. Could you let Peggy know I’ll be on the corner? I’ve been asked not to, uh, loiter."

 

Miriam thought she detected just a hint of sarcasm in the young man’s tone, and knew she’d made the correct decision in turning him out.

 

"Aw, no, come on." Miss Martinelli sidled up and took the soldier by the arm. "It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there! Miss Fry, it’d be all right if Peggy’s fiancé was to wait here until she comes down, wouldn’t it? She’s just puttin’ her face on."

 

"There’s no need to be vulgar," chided Miriam. "Fiancé, well! She never said a word about it to me."

 

The fiancé in question looked a little taken aback himself, stammering, “I’m not exactly - we haven’t exactly -“

 

Miss Martinelli gave a cavalier wave and said, “Oh, as good as. No way she’s gonna say no to Ca - to such a catch.” She petted Steve’s arm, as though he were a wild animal she was trying to gentle. “He’s got the ring and everything,” the girl added to Miriam, grinning.

 

Miriam sighed. “Oh, very well. But he’s _your_ responsibility until Miss Carter turns up to claim him. If there’s another brawl, on your head be it.”

 

She suspected, as she watched Miss Martinelli bear-leading the young soldier into the sitting-room, that she might be going soft.


	6. Steve Gives Peggy a Gift

"I know it isn’t much, but…"

 

Even Steve, who doesn’t have a lot of experience in the field, senses this isn’t the best way to begin his speech. He wishes he’d chosen a less public venue; he feels as though everyone in the restaurant is staring at them, though of course he knows they can’t possibly be.

 

He pauses, takes a breath, tries to start again, and comes out with, “Sorry.”

 

Peggy, who is staring at the ring as though she thinks it might bite her, murmurs, “Don’t apologize.” Then, softly, “How long have you had it?”

 

Steve considers feigning ignorance, but he knows that wouldn’t go over well. “A while,” he says instead.

 

"Before the crash."

 

He nods. “It was in my foot locker. You never…”

 

"No. They told me they’d thrown your things away. I was furious."

 

"Dugan managed to hang onto it. I didn’t ask a lot of questions."

 

"Oh, I see. Well. All right.”

 

"All right?"

 

She’s laughing now, and crying a little along with it. “All right. Yes. I’ll marry you.”

 

Steve thinks he might be crying a little himself, and rubs at his face quickly. “I haven’t asked yet,” he points out.

 

"Too late." Peggy thrusts out her hand, imperiously, and Steve takes it in both of his. The ring seems a little loose on her finger, but she insists that it’s fine.

 

"I won’t be able to wear it in the field, you know," she tells him - adding, quite seriously, "I shouldn’t like to damage it on someone’s face."

 

"I love you," he tells her, feeling it very keenly right at that particular moment. Because she is still, _always,_ the fierce, fearless girl he fought alongside, even in moments like this.

 

"I certainly hope so, darling," Peggy retorts, holding her hand up to examine the effect. "Otherwise, this will be an unpleasant exercise all round."


	7. Steve Visits Peggy at the Office

The news of Captain America’s return is top secret, very hush-hush, real eyes-only stuff - so naturally, the entire bullpen knows about it right away. For weeks, it’s impossible to walk into any room of the SSR office - even the john, for cripes’ sake - without hearing the word _Cap_.

 

Finally, Dooley makes the official announcement: the big man himself is planning to come in and do some hand-shaking. It only makes sense; after all, the SSR was where Cap got his start. He doesn’t want a fuss - no pictures, no autographs - but he’s happy to stick around for a while and shoot the breeze with the field agents.

 

Dooley spends the entire morning skipping around like a girl with a crush - Thompson could swear blind the guy even changed his tie. 

 

The rest of the fellows are wetting their pants in excitement, apart from Sousa, who looks like he just watched someone shoot the family dog.

 

The only one who doesn’t seem to be over the moon about it is Carter. You’d think she’d be thrilled to get another crack at the Sentinel of Liberty, but instead she rolls in an hour late and spends the rest of the morning with her head buried in paperwork, ignoring all the chatter. Doesn’t even so much as take out her compact to check her makeup.

 

Cap strides - which is the only word for it - into the office just before noon. He walks right past Carter’s desk without a second look, and heads straight into Dooley’s office. They close the door, and after that all Thompson can hear is the occasional guffaw from the chief, who has broken out the decent scotch and is making a complete ass of himself.

 

Carter, meanwhile, is in supreme ice queen mode. Thompson is beginning to think she deliberately exaggerated the connection between herself and Cap - after all, when the guy was dead, there was no one to contradict her.

 

Dooley is beaming when the office door finally opens; he claps Rogers on the back and calls him “son.”

 

Cap is patient with the eager onslaught of rookies wanting to shake his hand. He’s surprisingly humble for a guy with his professional reputation. He still hasn’t looked at Carter, nor she at him; Thompson is practically salivating over the idea of exposing her baseless bragging.

 

He idles for a while near the back of the group, to get the measure of the man, and then cuts through the crowd like a shark. He takes the upper hand right away and addresses Cap confidently, as an equal, _Steve_. War’s over, after all, no need for ranks here, right fellows?

 

He shears Rogers away from the horde of looky-loos and makes a show of introducing him around: _Steve, have you met Agent Sousa? Steve, Agent Ramirez? Yeah, big fans. All big fans._

 

And then, of course, they arrive at Carter’s desk. Jack is careful not to overdo it; he smiles at Cap and reels out a humble, “Oh, but you already know Agent Carter, I guess.”

 

Cap studies her intently, as though he’s trying to place her face but can’t quite manage it. “I’m not sure…” he says slowly. “She looks sort of familiar?”

Thompson can taste victory.

 

"Oh, _stop_ ,” says Carter. She’s smiling, which is the first hint that this is not going according to plan. The next is when she turns to Thompson and coolly corrects him, “It’s Agent _Rogers_ , now, actually.”

 

Nobody in the room stops what they’re doing or glances over, but there’s a collective hush that makes it clear everyone heard what Carter - _Rogers?_ \- just said.

 

Thompson looks at Cap for some sign that this is a put-on, but Cap is grinning back at her. “It’s official?”

 

"It had bloody well better be. I’ve just had to fill out a brick of paperwork for it. I’ll get my new badge in six to eight weeks, they tell me. In a year’s time, I may even have a new nameplate for my desk."

 

"Ready to go to lunch?"

 

"I was ready an hour ago," she announces, in that haughty English voice of hers. She collects her pocketbook and stands; when she slides her hand into the crook of Cap’s elbow, a small diamond winks merrily from her ring finger. "I’m absolutely ravenous," she adds, as they walk away, neither of them giving Thompson a backwards glance.

 

"You could’ve asked that guy to run out and get you a sandwich," says Rogers - _Captain_ Rogers - jerking his thumb in Thompson’s direction. “He didn’t seem too busy.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Five Minutes More](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4547136) by [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins), [roboticonography](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography)




End file.
